Supernatural Tumblr Shorts and One Shots
by AngelDesaray
Summary: A collection of short stories and one shots that I've posted on Tumblr: a continuous work in progress as I enter more challenges and get requests. So far they're only Dean x Reader, but it may evolve into more characters. We'll see. PM me if you have a short/one shot request. (Occasional language, violence, angst)
1. Nightmare (Dean x Reader)

_**This was a one shot I entered into a challenge: My prompts were "Why'd you let me fall asleep?" and the song Ghosttown by Madonna.**_

* * *

Dean is having another nightmare.

You noticed before he started to vocalize in his sleep, since you were lying next to him. His restlessness woke you, the tension that kept his body taut and rock solid underneath you rousing you to awareness as you realized something was wrong. Shifting in place under the sheets to face him, you sat up to see Dean bathed in sweat, his fist balled up into the sheets, eyes squeezed shut, and his entire body trembling.

You gently lay a hand on his bare chest—his skin burning hot to the touch—at the same time he starts to moan from some phantom pain caused by his current nightmare, and your heart breaks a little at the sound. This has been happening for weeks now as Dean's current state with the Mark of Cain continues to worsen, but neither of you have mentioned it to Sam. The younger Winchester was worried enough about Dean already—there was no point in making that burden any heavier.

"No," Dean groans a little louder, head tossing to the side. "Sam…Sam!"

 _Thank God Sam's not in the bunker right now_ , you think as Dean's voice raises in volume with each word. You softly slide your hand from his peck to his shoulder, fingers digging gently into the hollow where his throat met his shoulder as you get a good grip on his shoulder and shake him lightly. "Dean?" you call gently, not wanting him to wake up with his hunter instincts on high alert. Even if he accidentally hurt you waking up from a nightmare, he'd never forgive himself, and you knew it.

" _Sam_!" Dean cries out again, still in the throes of whatever hellish dream he was trapped in. When he calls out your name in sudden desperation, you shake him a little harder, raising your voice but leaning back in case he jumps awake.

"Dean!"

His head thrashes to the side, face scrunched up in pain. "No! _No_!" he pleads, and you move to sit on your knees beside him, cupping his face with your free hand as he calls for you and his brother in a broken voice.

" _Dean_!" you all but shout at him, abandoning caution entirely at the same time he calls for you again, tone strangled. Your voices mingle together in his room, but your voice finally breaks through to him, his eyes snapping open as your name falls from his lips in one last shout before he's awake. He jumps slightly in bed, one arm starting to raise defensively as his unfocused green eyes frantically search the room around him, breathing labored before his gaze finally find yours.

No words are spoken. They don't need to be.

His arm drops back to the bed, his fist slowly unclenches from the bedsheets, and his green eyes lock onto yours, desperately searching their depths as he slowly settles into reality and his nightmare bleeds away. His breathing is labored still, but as your thumb gently strokes along his collar bone in a feather light touch and your other hand gently cradles his jaw, his panting slows, breaths gradually evening out before he settles back against the bed.

You slowly stretch out beside him once more, lying against his side but pulling yourself up so you can lie even with him. Once you've settled, one arm tucked between you and him, you reach out with your other hand to gradually trace from his now lax bicep, up the top of his shoulder, down his collar bone, and up his throat before gently brushing your fingers along his jaw, his rough stubble tickling your fingers.

Dean's eyes slowly close, and he leans into your touch, a resigned sorrow starting to creep into his features as he swallows thickly. The silence between the two of you lingers before he eventually breaks it.

"Why'd you let me fall asleep?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper, eyes still closed.

It's true that more often than not, these days, Dean does his best to avoid sleeping, and sometimes he's turned to you to help keep him awake. But he hadn't slept in the past four days, and it had started to take its toll. You loved him, you knew he was struggling, and you wanted to help however you could, but you weren't about to help him hurt himself.

"Nightmares or not…you still need sleep, Dean. You can't keep running on empty," you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to the front of his shoulder, which is closest at the moment. "Please…at least try to go back to sleep."

Dean sighs, the long exhale ruffling your hair slightly. "What's the point? I'll just have another nightmare, I'll just wake up again. There's no difference between no sleep and this."

"Maybe they won't come back this time—sometimes you've slept without any bad dreams," you suggest, and Dean's eyes finally open again to look at you. He seems so exhausted, so defeated, and it breaks your heart. The only times you see him _peaceful_ recently are the rare moments he sleeps without any nightmares. Then, his expression is innocent and at ease, like it once was years ago before life _really_ started to put the Winchesters through the grinder.

"I don't think I could sleep now even if I tried," he counters quietly.

You shift once again, adjusting so you can comfortably lie across his chest and gazing at him, his eyes following you as you move. "Maybe I can help with that," you tell him, a small smile playing across your lips as you lean down to gently kiss the hollow of his throat. He sighs softly and leans his head back, eyes fluttering closed for a few moments.

"I don't think riling me up is a way to help me sleep," he teases gently, drawing a small laugh from you.

"That's not what I'm doing," you tell him, fingers running down the side of his arm. Gently, you lay your head on his shoulder, and he turns his head to look at you a moment before you reach up to trace his hairline and the line of his jaw with your fingers, repeating the motion. "Relax…" you murmur, a low hum building in his chest beneath you. You smile at the sound, starting to softly hum a tune of your own before the sound becomes softly sung words.

"Maybe it was all too much, too much for a man to take. Everything's bound to break sooner or later, sooner or later," you sing quietly to him, your fingers starting to run across his cheek and jaw. His eyes open to watch you while your fingers gently roam across his face, listening. "You're all that I can trust, facing the darkest days. Everyone ran away. We're gonna stay here, we're gonna stay here. Ah, ah, I know you're scared tonight. Ah, ah, I'll never leave your side."

Your fingers brush gently across his lips, lingering as he closes his eyes and presses a gentle kiss to their tips. "When it all falls, when it all falls down—I'll be your fire when the lights go out. When there's no one, no one else around—we'll be two souls in a ghost town." Your fingers run back upwards, slowly threading through his hair to soothingly massage his scalp for a few seconds. "When the world gets cold, I'll be your cover—let's just hold onto each other. When it all falls, when it all falls down, we'll be two souls in a ghost town."

You pause long enough to press another kiss just under his jaw, a soft sigh escaping him at the contact. You can feel him relaxing underneath you, no longer rigid from the tension that had come with his nightmare, and you think that perhaps you really will be able to sing him to sleep.

"Tell me how we got this far—every man for himself. Everything's gone to hell. We gotta stay strong, we're gonna hold on. This world has turned to dust—all we've got left is love. Might as well start with us singing a new song, something to build on." You smile at the words, returning to your position on your side but scooting up so that you're looking down at Dean instead of up. His eyes open again to look up at you, and his attention is entirely on you, on your voice, your gaze, and he's leaning into every one of your little touches, even now as you stroke your thumb along his cheekbone, your other fingers teasing at the edge of his hair. "Ah, ah, I know you're scared tonight. Ah, ah, I'll never leave your side."

They're not just lyrics to a song, they're a promise, and he knows it—you can see it in his eyes, those clear green eyes looking up at you with untainted love and adoration despite the cursed mark he bears even now, despite the sleepiness that's creeping into his features at your soothing touches and soft voice.

"When it all falls, when it all falls down—I'll be your fire when the lights go out. When there's no one, no one else around—we'll be two souls in a ghost town. When the world gets cold, I'll be your cover—let's just hold onto each other. When it all falls, when it all falls down, we'll be two souls in a ghost town."

You lean in, and his eyes close again, his head tilting up instinctively for the kiss you allow him, lips lingering on each other for several long moments before you manage to get yourself to pull away, your nose brushing along his cheek, fingers tenderly running along his chest. His breathing is slowing down again, and he's drifting closer to sleep, eyes remaining closed this time as you pull back to gaze down at him. "I know we're alright, 'cause we'll never be alone in this mad, mad…in this mad, mad world. Even with no light, we're gonna shine like gold in this mad, mad…in this mad, mad world."

Your fingers roam upwards again, gently caressing his jaw and cheek, occasionally dipping through his hair. He's almost asleep, head turned in your direction, lips slightly parted with gentle breaths tickling your skin. You lower your voice even more, your softly sung words a bare whisper to the man you're so captured by, even in terrible times like now with the Mark.

"When it all falls, when it all falls down—I'll be your fire when the lights go out. When there's no one, no one else around—we'll be two souls in a ghost town…"

Because he's worth it—he's always been worth it, even if he couldn't see that, even if you were the only one to see it. To you, Dean Winchester is the embodiment of everything good in this world. And you would never leave him alone to any kind of hell he has to live through—not even if it seemed to have consumed him.

"When it all falls, when it all falls down—I'll be your fire when the lights go out. When there's no one, no one else around—we'll be two souls in a ghost town."

You scoot down, gently lowering yourself to curl up in his side, and his arm lethargically wraps around your waist to hold you close to him. He's all but asleep now, and you smile, snuggling deeper into his warm embrace as you whisper out the rest of the song.

"When the world gets cold, I'll be your cover—let's just hold onto each other. When it all falls, when it all falls down, we'll be two souls in a ghost town. When it all falls, when it all falls down, we'll be two souls in a ghost town."

That's it. That's the end of the song. You stop to listen, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, his breaths even and deep. He's asleep once again, and hopefully, this time, it will be nightmare free.

Resting one hand on his chest, you close your eyes, and just as you're about to fall asleep, you whisper the three words that, as inadequate as they are when it comes to Dean Winchester, are the closest words you have to describe what you feel for him.

"I love you."

And you don't need to hear him say it back, even when he's awake, because you _know_ he does to. He doesn't have to speak to say so—you can see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, hear it in his voice. Dean is the master at _showing_ how he feels, and those gestures tend to be more profound than any words he may say.

Such as the fact that when you whisper those three little words to his sleeping form, his arm instinctively tightens around you.

 _I love you, too._


	2. A Tumble into New Waters (Dean x Reader)

_**Again, this was for a writing challenge I entered. My prompt was "Ahh! I'm not dead!"**_

* * *

You had met your newest mortal enemy, an enemy you and Dean tackled together, though he was a little further ahead of you in this new struggle.

Stairs.

A tipsy giggle slipped past your lips as you took a moment to cling heavily to the bannister, putting all your weight on the thin metal. Dean and you had just finished hunting a Shōjō, which of course meant that the two of you had been raging drunk since _before_ taking on the rare monster. It was a miracle you'd been able to hold the sword steady enough to pierce the thing.

Then again, Dean had helped—apparently, it took two drunks to hold a sword steady and impale a ghost-like monster.

When gorging on unholy amounts of scotch, whiskey, and tequila—really anything to get the job done, especially since Dean was almost _immune_ to getting drunk—neither of you had taken into consideration the fact that you were on the fourth floor of a motel that did _not_ have an elevator.

You _thought_ you weren't drunk enough to no longer make decisions on your own, but you _were_ drunk enough that this little adventure was quite comical.

So, still feeling the effects of the alcohol and battered rather viciously by the Shōjō, the two of you braved the stairs with unsteady legs, random fits of obnoxious giggles, and banter that didn't even make sense half the time, though your alcohol glazed minds convinced you that you really _did_ know what the other meant.

"We probably shoulda stopped after…that one glass," you told Dean, snorting in amusement at the end of the sentence. He was several steps above you, taking his sweet time, but he turned to look at you, throwing himself momentarily off balance by the simple motion and weaving slightly.

"You mean the one glass after the other glass," he clarified with a sloppy smile. You fell into a fit of giggles, managing to force your answer out when you paused for air.

"Yeah…that one…"

"Come on…we're almost at our floor. Then we can pass out and deal with hangovers tomorrow," Dean chuckled, turning back to continue up the steps. You pushed away from the railing, going to take another step, but you didn't _quite_ make it.

Your foot hit the side of the step, not making it to the next one, at the same time you stepped down, which caused you to lose your balance and pitch forward, feet flying out from under you. No longer steady on the steps, you fell onto your stomach, sliding back down the steps at the same time one by one, chest and legs painfully hitting individual stairs along the way.

"Ahh!" you cried out, Dean turning around at the commotion to see you fall all the way to the last landing. You groaned once you'd finally stopped falling, slowly rolling onto your back and holding up a hand. "I'm not dead."

As soon as you'd confirmed you were okay, Dean started roaring with laughter, the sound echoing through the stairwell.

"Oh my _God_ ," he managed to get out around his laughter, carefully making his way back down the stairs to your side, still laughing. "Are you all right?"

"Well, I'm alive—that counts for _something_ , right?" you grunted as he helped you up, hands surprisingly steady. Then again, should you have been surprised he was less drunk than you? This man could drink a liquor store and only get slightly tipsy.

Or was that Castiel?

 _Let's just play it safe and say both of them._

You leaned into Dean—the scent of whisky unsurprisingly the strongest right now in his usual musk, gunpowder, motor oil, and whisky scent—letting him keep you steady and guide you back up the stairs. "Yeah, you need to sleep this off for sure…no going out until you're sober. I don't want you tripping out a window or something," Dean chuckled as the two of you slowly made your way up the stairs. You were focused on putting one foot at a time successfully on each step, but you still caught the serious timber in his voice.

"Oh…come on…I'm not that bad," you pouted, most of your concentration channeled into walking up the steps.

"Considering what just happened, I beg to differ. You're a clumsy drunk."

"Gee, thanks."

The two of you finally made it up the stairs, Dean unlocking the motel door and guiding you inside, kicking the door shut behind him before helping you stumble to the bed. Unceremoniously, you flopped onto the bed face first, groaning. "I'm suddenly very tire."

"You mean tired?"

"That's what I said."

Dean snorted softly. "Right."

A few seconds later, you felt one of your shoes being tugged off, and you giggled—you didn't say anything, simply giggled, the sound starting to build into hysterical laughter.

"You are _so_ out of it right now," Dean grumbled as he finished tugging the first shoe off, then moved onto the next.

"I don't think I'm going to sleep," You admitted between gasps for air, and suddenly you felt strong hands on your hips flipping you onto your back on the bed, finding yourself breathless and staring up into Dean's green eyes.

It was times like these, when Dean's mere presence got your blood pumping, that you were faced with the little fact you usually tried to keep hidden about how you felt.

You liked Dean. _A lot_. That was putting it mildly. But Dean wasn't one for steady, close relationships, so you kept it to yourself.

Times like these made that rather difficult.

"You're going to sleep if I have to knock you out myself," Dean rumbled, shifting to sit up beside you, propping a few pillows behind him before he leaned back against the headboard. You squeaked as he suddenly pulled you up into his lap, leaning you against his chest and securely wrapping his strong arms around your middle, your arms draping over his own. Once the shock wore off, you relaxed into him, feeling his cheek come to rest on the side of your head, his thumb reaching up to gently run along your arm repeatedly.

"Better?" he asked quietly, and the best you could manage was a slight nod, your breath seeming to have disappeared entirely at his close proximity and embrace. Dean shifted just slightly to get comfortable, and once he had settled down the two of you fell into a comfortable silence that stretched on before suddenly it was broken by a low rumble in his chest. The sound continued, reverberating through you as well, and you soon realized he was humming a song you had him listen to once upon a time.

 _The Humbling River, by Puscifer._

Finally closing your eyes, you simply lay there in his arms, listening to him hum the song as his hand continued to lazily stroke your arm, the vibrations in his chest drawing you closer to sleep. He reached a favorite part of the song, and you started softly, sleepily singing along without any care about whether you were on key or off.

"Angel, angel, what have I done. I've faced the quakes, the wind, the fire. I've conquered country, crown, and throne. Why can't I cross this river?" you murmured, the words starting to slur as you started to nod off. Dean kept humming, probably aware by your voice that you were rapidly spiraling towards sleep, and you could have sworn you felt his lips brush the top of your head, but you were on the brink of sleep and pretty sure you might have already been half-dreaming by now. "Pay no mind to the battles you've won…it'll take a lot more than rage and muscle…open your heart…and hands my son…or you'll never make it o'er…the river…the hands of the many…join as one…"

You yawned, words trailing off as darkness started to claim you. Just before you lost consciousness you felt one of his hands gently thread his fingers through yours, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered the next line. "And together we'll cross the river."

* * *

You didn't know which one of you woke up first.

You did know that for however long, you simply stayed where you were, feeling Dean's strong arms still wrapped around you, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you with his breath gently ruffling your hair…

And feeling his fingers threaded through yours, confirming that what you'd heard and felt last night before falling asleep hadn't been a dream after all.

Eventually, you did open your eyes, gazing down the bed and staring at his feet and your own, regaining your bearings before you very carefully tried to angle your head up to look at him without waking him.

When your eyes met his wide awake, green eyes, your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your throat as the two of you simply gazed at each other for several long moments.

You didn't know which one of you woke up first, but you _did_ know it was Dean who acted in that pivotal moment.

His free hand released your waist to move up and cup your cheek, tilting your face upwards a little more as he leaned down and very softly pressed his lips to yours.

They were soft, just as you'd always thought they'd be, moving slowly against your lips—which were frustratingly unresponsive for the first few seconds, lagging behind before your brain seemed to register what was happening and you kissed him back, eyes slipping close. You leaned in hungrily, tightening your grasp on his hand as he returned your increase in tempo with just as much fervor.

When he finally pulled away, you were reluctant to let him, gently capturing his lower lip for one last brief kiss before he was out of reach, both of your breathing a little shallow as he rested his forehead against yours.

You opened your eyes, and despite the fact he was looking at morning you—hair mused, appearance utterly disheveled, you'd been drunk the night before, probably a little gift from Mr. Sandman still gathered in the corner of your eyes, everything—his green eyes seemed to bore through your very soul, and his expression said what he was looking at was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

You could only manage one breathy word.

"Dean…"


	3. The 'Ole Switch-a-roo (Dean x Reader)

_**Again, writing challenge. The prompt was a gif, so I'll just underline the action that was in the gif so you know what the prompt was. Be warned, this one was angst, not fluff.**_

* * *

He acted like it was any other day.

In fact, he acted like it was a _good_ day, better than any other.

You knew the truth, but you played the game for his sake.

Sam was gone, and you had the bunker to yourselves. You smiled when he twirled you around the bunker's library to Led Zeppelin, laughed as he regaled you with cheesy jokes and pick-up lines, and drowned in his strong embrace and passion-drunk kisses. His smile was genuine and wide, green eyes shimmering with joy and love, his laughter full and genuine every time.

He almost made you forget the secret he'd thought he'd managed to keep from you.

Now, night had fallen, finding you lying on the bed with Dean, his arm wrapped around your shoulders with your head resting on his shoulder in turn. His hands and lips roamed lazily wherever they pleased, the two of you simply enjoying each other's company, drowning in each other's scent, heat, and touch.

Dean pulled away, glancing back at the nightstand as his phone buzzed. You blinked, straightening as his entire body language seemed to shift.

Was he going to tell you?

"Dean?" you asked, watching him closely. At the sound of your voice, Dean shook himself out of his stupor, turning to give you a lazy smile.

"It's nothing, just a storm alert—not that we'd have to worry about that down here," he said with a chuckle, kissing your neck. "Hey, I'm getting a little hungry, what about you?"

"A bit…" you relented, already suspecting where he was going with this.

"I'll go ahead and run into town and pick up something, then, how about that?" Dean murmured.

"I could come with you," you offered, but Dean was quick to shoot you down.

"Nah, you just stay here and relax, I'll only be a moment, I promise," he said, smile tightening slightly at the end. You sighed, searching his green eyes for several long moments.

He was really going to keep this secret until it was all over, wasn't he?

"All right," you agreed, moving your hand over his shoulder sensually and twining your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, moving in to crush your lips to his.

Dean moaned softly at the intensity of your kiss, lips moving hungrily in response to your own as he seemed to pour every ounce of passion and love he had in him into that kiss. So did you.

When you both finally pulled away, you ghosted your fingers along the stubble on his jaw, kissing the other side and then his neck before you reluctantly pulled away. "Hurry back."

Dean swallowed, fingers grazing your outer thigh. "Yes, ma'am," he said softly before easing himself off the bed and making his way to the door.

"Oh, and Dean," you called, and he turned around, expression expectant but also guarded as he hid his true emotions at the moment. "Don't forget to pick up some gummy bears."

Once he registered your words, he pointed at you to emphasize his words, giving you a small half smile and a wink at the same time. "You've got it."

"I love you!" you called a second after his broad shoulders disappeared from view. There was a brief pause, your heart hammering in your chest as you wondered whether or not he heard you.

"Love you too," eventually echoed back to you from down the hall, the emotion in his voice enough to make your throat close.

You sat perfectly still on the bed for several long moments after the sound of the bunker door closing echoed through the Men of Letters base you and the Winchesters called home. Once you had enough courage, you reached over and snatched your phone up from its perch on the other nightstand, glancing at the lock screen's digital clock.

It was almost time.

You gazed at the picture of you and Dean laughing and kissing in front of the Impala—him a complete, grimy, motor-oiled mess and you with a few smudges of grease on your face from yours truly—until the screen went black. Knowing you didn't have time to stall, you grabbed your jacket and gradually made your way to your car before leaving the bunker as well.

* * *

Dean drove well outside the city limits of Lebanon, Kansas, his gaze fixated straight ahead as he clenched the steering wheel in a bone-crushing grip. He didn't keep track of where he was going, he simply followed the road and drove until his phone started buzzing again from the second alarm.

As soon as that phone started to buzz he eased Baby off of the road, letting her come to a gradual stop in the grass beside the road. He closed his eyes, listening to the hum of the engine and flexing his fingers lovingly around the steering wheel before he shut her off, instantly plunged into darkness as he got out of the car.

"Dean Winchester. Nice to see you're keeping our appointment."

Five minutes to midnight—not even, now.

Dean turned to face the demon standing in front of him on the pavement of the road, hands clasped in front of him and a false-sweet smile on his face, semi-long brown hair slicked back with too much hair gel. The black eyes switched back to murky brown as the demon took in Dean.

Dean took a deep breath before turning to face the demon entirely, heart pounding and blood racing from fear and anticipation, but his hands steady and jaw clenched in resolute determination, already bracing himself for what was to come and listening for the sound of hounds in the distance—or even up close.

"What, no wise cracks, no sarcastic comments or noble last words?" the demon asked as Dean remained silent.

"I'm ready, so let's just get this over with," Dean said, voice low.

The demon eyed him for a second. "No funny business?"

"None."

After a few more long moments—Dean flinched inwardly when he did hear hellhounds howling somewhere far away, no doubt getting closer—the demon shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Dean closed his eyes and readied himself to be torn to shreds by hellhounds for the second time in his life, hearing the demon sigh as he envisioned your face in his last moments.

 _For her._

The demon snapped his fingers, and several agonizingly tense heartbeats passed where nothing happened.

"Done."

Dean's eyes flew open, looking around him.

He was still on the side of the road next to Baby. He didn't see any hellhounds, and he didn't hear any, either. On the street, the demon was smiling calmly at him as Dean turned his cautious gaze on the demon before him, still tense and ready for something to happen.

"What do you mean _done_? Where's the hellhounds, the trip down the highway to hell?" Dean asked, voice sharp but confused.

"Oh, right, I probably should have mentioned that…your debt's been paid…by another."

Dean's blood froze, a pit of foreboding dread settling in his stomach. "What do you mean _another_? Who took my place?"

The demon's smug smile grew into a wicked grin, but he didn't answer, black eyes flashing again. Dean's teeth ground together and he stalked forward, hand reaching out to grab the demon by the front of the shirt.

His fingers barely managed to brush against fabric, and then the demon was gone, leaving Dean alone on the side of the road and afraid to find out who the demon had been referring to.

* * *

When Dean entered the bunker once again, he was understandably shaken and worried, too concerned to even think of an excuse to give you for why he was gone for so long and didn't come back with anything to eat, not even the gummy bears you'd requested.

He hadn't told a single soul about his deal, not human, demon, or angel—hadn't even mentioned it in a prayer or acknowledged it out loud—so how had someone discovered enough to take his place?

Jaw flexing absentmindedly, Dean slowly worked his keys between his fingers as he made his way through the halls of the bunker back to the room the two of you shared, already speaking before he even turned the corner. "Sorry I took so long, I got side…"

Dean paused in the doorway, taking in the empty room. His brow creased in concern as he noted that your phone wasn't on the nightstand, and he pulled out his own just to make sure he hadn't missed a text from you.

Nothing.

"Y/N?" he called, backing out of the room and hoping to find you maybe down in the shooting range, in the kitchen, hell he was even going to check their dungeon—you weren't in the garage, he'd just come from there. The longer he called your name without an answer, the longer he had to search, the harder his heart pounded in his chest. Eventually he came full circle, and the panic was starting to settle in as he pulled out his phone once again.

"Come on, Y/N, where the hell are you?" Dean growled.

* * *

By some miracle, your GPS was on for once. But that was the only relief he got to feel.

The signal was coming from some random field in the middle of nowhere, and it wasn't moving, fixed in place like an ominous sign he didn't want to think about. Instead, he got back into Baby and gunned the Impala out of the garage and down the open road. He kept himself focused on the driving alone, refusing to think of what he would find when he finally reached the field your phone was claiming you were in, already going into denial before he even reached his destination.

There was a perfectly reasonable explanation. One that didn't involve any of the dark thoughts he was barely managing to hold at bay.

The tires screeched in protest as Dean came to an abrupt halt beside the offending field, getting out of the car a split second after the engine turned off. He pulled out a flashlight and his gun, just in case there was something wrong and he was walking into trouble, and then stepped into the long grass that went up to his waist with immense trepidation.

The field was completely silent—there was the occasional cricket, of course, but other than that, nothing. He wanted to shout your name or call your phone, but if there was trouble, if there was something out here, he didn't want to give away your position.

But he _needed_ to find you. He _needed_ to see that you were all right with his own eyes. That's all he wanted from this messed up universe right now.

Dean happened to cross paths with a patch of grass that had been flattened by a great weight, the pressure forming a noticeable indent in the surrounding area of a large paw print. There were three more prints—some in the earth hidden from view by the grass that he had to crouch down and find—to match the first.

His breath seemed to be sucked right from his body, ice already creeping through his veins as he tossed away caution with this new development, starting to follow the direction the paw prints seemed to be going.

"Y/N!" he hollered as loud as he could, the barely restrained fear only growing as he continued to shout with no answer.

And then he saw it.

A few paces in front of him, straight out of his nightmares.

The grass around the general area was spattered red, some patches ripped to shreds and straight out of the ground from the violent scuffle that must have occurred.

"Oh, God…"

The gun slipped from Dean's hands as he covered his mouth with his arm, staggering _forward_ even though part of him wanted to run in the opposite direction and pretend all of this _was_ one of his torturous nightmares.

" _Oh, God_ …"

Dean hit his knees next to the almost unrecognizable heap in the middle of the artificial clearing, a slick substance that was no longer warm soaking through his jeans. At some point the flashlight had fallen to the ground as well, it's harsh beam washing the garish scene and his shaking hands that couldn't touch what was in front of him in a haunting pale light.

"God, _no_ …"

He finally forced his hand to connect, pulling with what strength he had left to roll the mangled form over and reveal your face, mostly untouched other than a nasty claw mark across your cheek, glassy eyes staring at nothing, devoid of any spark and all life. Something inhuman and animalistically wounded made it out of his chest.

" _Please, no!"_

He wanted to deny it, falling forward and gripping your bloodied shoulders like the sheer force he exerted could push some of his life into you, but it did nothing. He didn't care that your blood quickly soaked his clothes as he gathered you up into his arms, pressing his face against your slashed cheek and torn throat while his fingers threaded through your hair.

"Not you… _oh, God_ …not you…" he choked out, subconsciously starting to rock in place as the tears started to flow.

This…was what that son of a bitch had meant when he'd said another had taken his place.

The hellhounds he'd heard hadn't been for him. They'd been running to you.

And they'd dragged you to Hell.

He knew _exactly_ what that was like.

And he couldn't bear the thought of it happening to _you_. _Not to you_.

…and so something inside Dean Winchester broke irrevocably.

* * *

He was still covered in your blood.

He'd spent who knew how long in that clearing with your body, hours probably, before he realized the longer he sat there, the longer you suffered in Hell, and he needed to get _moving_ to get you back.

Because he'd be _damned_ if he was going to let you rot in Hell.

 _Never._

He stood in the middle of the large devil's trap, demon killing knife in hand and ritual complete as the contents of the bowl in the middle went up in flames and smoke.

"Squirrel."

In the next moment, Dean had pinned Crowley against the floor, knife held at the King of Hell's throat and ready to end him the second Dean heard something he didn't like.

Such as _no_.

"I take it this isn't a friendly visit?" Crowley grunted, all humor gone as he carefully met Dean's cold gaze.

" _Bring. Her. Back_ ," Dean growled, pressing the blade harder into Crowley's throat.

"You know, there are nicer ways to ask—"

" _I'm not asking_!"

"I don't have her," Crowley finally said, voice flat.

"Bullshit—your hellhounds dragged her down there, now you _give her back_."

"Let's try this again," Crowley said coolly, holding Dean's murderous gaze. "I had a soft spot for little Y/N, and when I heard she was in town I plucked her off the rack myself and made a call to have her sent upstairs."

Dean froze. "You what?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. "She's not in Hell, _moron_ , because she's in heaven. So, I'll say it again— _I don't have her_."

" _You_ …sent her soul to heaven?"

"Unlike most of the imbeciles that end up in my funhouse, she didn't belong there, didn't deserve it. So yes, I got ahold of an angel who was willing to take her straight to the pearly gates. Now will you take the knife off me so we can finish this conversation like perfectly civil beings?"

Dean stared Crowley down, suspicion in his eyes. Why would a demon have contacts with angels?

Then again…this was _Crowley_.

Dean let him go, backing away but keeping the knife firmly in hand as Crowley rose to his feet, dusting himself off. "Much better."

"Who's the angel?" Dean asked.

Crowley looked at Dean, surprise flashing across his face for a brief moment. "You're joking, right? You do know she's in _heaven_ —eternal peace, surrounded by loved ones, best of memories forever on repeat, the whole gig?"

"Crowley, I don't care if she's sipping margaritas with God on his beach vacation—give me the _damn_ name!"

"Sorry, Squirrel, I can't do that."

"You son of a—" Dean growled, starting to advance with knife at the ready. Crowley held up a hand, a clear signal to wait.

"But…" he added quickly, and Dean paused, close enough he could definitely still stab Crowley if he felt like it. "I can give you the ritual to summon him specifically, since that seems to be your endgame with this… _persuasive_ line of questioning."

"What's the ritual," Dean said quietly after a moment of consideration. Crowley smirked.

"Now _this_ , I can work with."

* * *

It took a while to find everything he needed for the ritual Crowley gave him—whoever this angel contact was, they seemed to be a big deal considering what was needed to summon them—but once he had it all he wasted no time in getting the holy oil circle ready and carrying out the ritual, watching yet another bowl of ingredients go up in flames and smoke.

"I thought I might be getting a call from you, Deany-boy."

Dean whipped around at the familiar voice, stunned into inaction a little too long as he stared at the celestial being before him.

" _You_? You're dead!"

Gabriel smiled, reaching forward with his foot and breaking the holy oil line before Dean could regather himself enough to light the circle on fire. "Well…as far as you knew. And the big bro…and heaven…and everyone else. I'm rather skilled at faking my death, you know. Hey—I still gave you what you needed to stop the apocalypse, didn't I?"

" _You're_ the angel Crowley got to bring Y/N to heaven?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Don't sound so shocked—I owed the little spitfire," Gabriel said with a shrug. "It's a long story that I won't be sharing with you," he added when Dean's expression of surprise grew.

"How did _Crowley_ know you were alive?"

"Oh, he didn't know," Gabriel scoffed. "I heard on the angel vine that Y/N had pulled the 'ole switch-a-roo on you with your deal and Crowley was trying to get her afterlife accommodations upgraded. The other angels said no, so I stepped in and gave her a personal escort, threatened to clip a few wings if they tried to say no again, and made sure she got a first-class suite."

"If you're the one who brought her there, then you can still bring her back," Dean stated, stepping forward. Gabriel gave him a calculating look disturbingly similar to the one Crowley had given him earlier.

"You do realize she's in _heaven_ , with everyone she's lost—all of her family and friends, even the ones you two shared—actually _there_ with her, all those little heavens interconnected? Frankly, you and your brother are the only missing pieces for her little heaven, but she _doesn't want to see you_ up there until it's finally your time, for the _last_ time." Gabriel took a step closer to emphasize his point. "She's at peace, away from all the dangerous chaos that is the life you two have—do you really want to drag her back to earth, right smack dab in the center of all that pain and suffering? Possibly mess up the only golden ticket all of you have to paradise? Cause yanking her out right after I put her in doesn't exactly bode well for any future attempts to set all of you up for the luxury package."

"Please…just…please, bring her back…" Dean said softly, tripping over the fact his voice sounded like it was begging. He hated begging…but he'd do anything to bring you back. "I need her."

Gabriel sighed heavily. "You sound like your brother after those six months in that…alternate time I stuck him in without you. Except this time, _I'm not budging_." Dean's brow furrowed in confusion, wondering what six months Gabriel was talking about but able to tell he wasn't going to explain _that_ story either as the archangel plowed on. "I'm not bringing her back. She's found her peace, she wants to be there. You're just gonna have to wait, buck-o. And don't even think of trying the abrupt express to the afterlife—we've got permission from her to make sure your self-sacrificing obsessed ass doesn't pull that kind of shit. You'll just have to wait till it's your turn to knock on the door."

Before Dean could even protest, Gabriel had snapped his fingers, and he was gone.

" _Gabriel_! You son of a _bitch_!"

* * *

Weeks passed, and not for the first time in his life, Dean turned to the familiar bottle to drown and numb the pain. That's all there was to his days, now–just the bottle and one job after the other, no in between if he could help it, just always moving, always busy, never allowing himself to think about what had happened.

Sam and Cas both tried to pull Dean out of his obvious depression, but he just wasn't going to budge on this. Your death had hit Sam and Cas hard as well, Sam blindsided by the abrupt loss of someone who was basically a sister-in-law to him, and Cas hit with not only the news of a close friend's death, but also of the news that Gabriel was alive. Not that the information had done them any good after Dean's short conversation with the archangel—Gabriel had been dust in the wind ever since, vanishing without any trace to follow.

But, clearly, no one hurt more than Dean.

Now, in the silence of the bunker, Dean stood in front of the dresser in his room, staring down at the top drawer with a blank stare as he braced himself against the surface. With everything that had happened—from finding you in that damn field, to carrying you home, to finding out no one was going to bring you back, to telling Sam and Cas, to the hunter's funeral, and then the weeks after—there was one thing he had yet to face.

In the glovebox of your car, he'd found a letter, from you to him, obviously meant to be found after you were gone.

He had yet to read it.

Not for the first time, Dean pulled out the smooth white envelope with his name written in your handwriting on the front out of the bottom of the dresser, turning it over in his hands.

This time, he took it with him as he sat on the edge of the bed and finally broke the seal.

* * *

 _Dean_

 _By the time you read this…I'll be dead. I'm sorry that it's hurt you, I'm sorry I'm not there with you now, I'm sorry I've left, and without any warning…but I'm not sorry for doing what I did._

 _I'm sure you have questions, first of all being how I knew._

 _I knew something was wrong after we wrapped that case together. You were closed off a few days after, and I could see the guilt in your eyes. It wasn't like I could ask anyone what had happened, it was just you and me on that case. But I did know that there was a gap in my memory from the moment I was jumped by that werewolf to the moment I woke up, that angels weren't a choice for us and Cas was M.I.A. at the time, and near us there had been a crossroad. All I had to do was summon the demon and ask._

 _Now you want to know why, right?_

 _Dean…I took your place in the deal because this world needs you, because Sam needs you, because you are worth so much more than the constant sacrificial lamb you seem to make of yourself, and I did it because I love you. You've done so much for me,_ _ **sacrificed**_ _so much for me, it was my time to do something for you. There was no way in hell I was going to stand aside and let you be dragged back to Hell a second time for my sake. You deserve so much better than that._

 _If there's anything I want you to remember of me, it's what I'm about to say next._

 _Dean Winchester, you are_ _ **loved**_ _, and not just by me. You have family that cares about you and stands by you, even now. You are not alone, even when you think you are—there has_ _ **always**_ _been someone on your side. You are worth saving, you are worth the sacrifice of others and more, even if you don't think you are. You are smarter than you think, a genius in your own right, the best hunter in this messed up world, and_ _ **far too good for this world**_ _. You are funny, charming, and handsome, not to mention compassionate and strong, even when you're broken. And it's_ _ **okay**_ _for you to break, because you're_ _ **human**_ _, and unfortunately pain is part of the package deal with life. But you have people to help you or at least be with you when you break, and it's_ _ **okay**_ _to let them see when you're broken because they still_ _ **love you**_ _and see you for_ _ **you**_ _. So do me a favor, and don't shut Sam out. Let your brother be there for you like you've been there for him so many God-forsaken times._

 _Knowing you, you'll probably try to bring me back, but I don't want to be brought back, not if it costs something like your own soul or your life. Dean, you keep fighting—even if you don't want to without me there, you fight for Sammy and you fight for Castiel, and you fight for_ _ **YOU**_ _. And when it's over…_ _ **really**_ _over, I'm praying you end up in heaven where you belong with everyone we've lost along the way. Cause as much as we scratch and claw to live as long as we can, we've got an eternity with everyone we've ever loved waiting for us in heaven._

 _That's what I want for you. Damn it, Dean, you_ _ **deserve**_ _it._ _ **YOU DESERVE IT**_ _. And don't you dare try to turn it down when that time comes or I will crawl out of this pit so help me God and beat your ass all the way to those pearly gates._

 _Lastly…don't forget that I love you. I always have, and I always will. I made this choice, and I knew what the consequences were, and every step of the way I knew it would hurt but I didn't look back because_ _ **I love you**_ _._

 _I love you._

 _Goodbye._

 _Y/N_

* * *

Dean sat on the edge of that bed longer than he was aware, letter clutched tight in his hands as he read and re-read it over and over, tears silently trailing down his cheeks and dripping from his scruffy jaw to the letter or his legs and arms. Eventually, he looked up when the sound of Sam moving a chair in the library echoed down the hall, jostling him enough back to reality to fold the letter up and tuck it into the pocket of his jeans with reverence. He stood up, grabbing his jacket off the chair of his desk, and folded it over his arm as he opened the top drawer that had remained shut all this time. He stared at the item on top before carefully situating it on his desk next to the pictures of his mother and Sammy on top of the desk.

"I love you too," he murmured to the picture of the two of you lying on the hood of Baby after a hard day's work, you in his arms and smiling up at him.

 _I'll see you soon…but not yet. Not till it's my turn. And when it is, God, I'll go willingly._

Running a hand down his face to wipe away any remaining tears or tear tracks, Dean left the room, shrugging on his jacket.

"Sammy…come on…let's go out—get a drink or something to eat…anything."


End file.
